


Shoes and Stars

by Mansaeboysbe



Category: BLACKPINK (Band), K-pop
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Artist AU, Death, Drug Use, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-24 08:56:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16171814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mansaeboysbe/pseuds/Mansaeboysbe
Summary: Together they write on the walls and pretend being in love makes up for all the pain in the world.





	Shoes and Stars

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains sensitive material relating to depression and could potentially be triggering to some people. Please stay safe.
> 
> -Admin Mari

Jisoo stood backstage, nervously playing with the straps of her dress. Every time she was about to perform she would feel butterflies in her stomach and her heart beating out of her chest.

She wore a soft blue dress, nothing too eye catching because she couldn’t afford many fancy things. Her job as a waitress paid for her bills but these performances rarely gave her more than enough to buy dinner for a week. It didn’t matter to her, though.

Somewhere on the other side of the curtain, Jisoo could hear a man introducing her over the microphone. She inhaled, exhaled, put on her most dazzling smile and pushed the curtain back.

It was way hotter on stage than off and the blinding lights didn’t help. Nevertheless, Jisoo was not deterred and she stepped proudly up to the stage. She introduced herself a little coyly as she had practiced and then waited for the band to start playing.

As always, only a few paid attention to her singing despite her powerful voice and the heartfelt words she had written herself. Such was the life of an artist, she constantly told herself.

She swayed a little as the last notes of her song played. Her set had only been ten minutes long but she didn’t really mind. She swept her long black hair over one shoulder and proceeded to walk offstage.

As the curtains closed behind her, Jisoo walked down the stairs to get off the platform. However, due to the sensitivity of her eyes, about the second step down her heel broke and she fell down the last three. She huffed and blew a stray strand of hair out of her eyes before standing.

She kicked off both of her shoes before readjusting her dress. She gave a pointed glare at the left pump on the ground which had its heel barely hanging on. She bent down and picked the shoes up before walking over to where the stage manager had placed her purse.

She unzipped the largest pocket and pulled out the roll of duct tape she always kept with her. Jisoo taped up the heel as best she could and then cautiously placed it back on her foot. She slipped into her other shoe and then walked out the back door.

The alley was completely dark aside from the light of the street lamp across the road. Throwing the strap of her bag over her shoulder, Jisoo tightened her grip on it and started to walk home.

She only made it out of the alley, however, when she was stopped by a voice calling out.

“Hey!”

Jisoo turned her head slightly. She wasn’t sure if the person talking to her but she didn’t really want to draw attention to herself.

“Jisoo, right? You in the blue dress.”

She stopped for a moment before turning around, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

The sidewalk was completely empty except for a girl leaning up against the brick wall of the building Jisoo had just exited. This girl had her leg lazily crossed over the other mimicking the position of her arms. Occasionally she would lift her arm and take a drag from the half-finished cigarette in her hand.

“What?” Jisoo asked, not accusatory or irked, but slightly curious.

“Did you write those?” the girl inquired. It was muffled by the cancer stick between her lips.

Jisoo nodded a little.

“They could use some improvement.”

At that Jisoo reeled back, suddenly defensive.

“Excuse me? What gives you the right to judge? I don’t see you performing on stage,” she spat.

The girl smirked and calmly took another drag before tossing the cigarette to the ground and smashing it into the pavement with the heel of her boot.

“I write things, like you; I just perform differently. If you want my advice, write about something less sappy. Heartbreak is overrated.” With the end of the conversation, the girl pushed herself off the wall and walked away from Jisoo, who was fuming.

She returned to her apartment and threw her broken heels down beside the door. She was honestly so angry that all she wanted to do was sleep, so she didn’t bother to turn on the lights. She slammed and locked the door behind her.

Shedding her dress before even reaching the bedroom, Jisoo changed into comfier clothes and flipped onto the bed. She didn’t bother moving beneath her comforter as she stared at the ceiling. Her legs and arms were spread out on the bed and she closed her eyes to attempt sleep.

Resting didn’t last long, however, as Jisoo awoke about two hours later, still mad. She uncurled herself from her position on the bed and sat up as she realized sleep was going to remain evasive.

Flicking the lamp on beside her, Jisoo pulled the journal out of the bedside table on her right. She flipped through the pages and paused when she found the lyrics to one of her songs from earlier. She scanned the words and, even in her haste and annoyance, found that her choice in subject matter was slightly cliche.

She turned the page and stared at the empty lines. Try as she might, she could not come up with any words or even drawings to fill the paper with. Her only thought was of heartbreak.

It was relatable, she argued with herself. Heartbreak is something everyone had gone through.

Another part of her saw the flaw, though. If everyone can relate to it, why would people pay attention to it? Someone else will like it, they might say, instead of supporting her themselves. How was this any different from pandering?

She sighed and rubbed her face with both hands. Why couldn’t writing be easy? Why did everything need to be the most unique thing in the world nowadays? Why had she been so blind?

She glanced over at her clock, the digital numbers flashing 3:37 in bright red. Her shift would start in a couple of hours, so she really needed to sleep. She replaced her journal, shut off the lamp and crawled under the covers. Her eyes drooped but her mind kept racing. Jisoo was no longer angry, just slightly upset, and more with herself than the other girl.

She woke up about a half an hour before her shift started, which led to her frantically running around the house to make sure everything was in order. She ran out the door and made it about a block before violently turning on her heel and sprinting back the other way. She ran back inside and grabbed her journal before running out the door again, this time at a faster pace.

She pushed past people, shouting out apologies all the while, and finally arrived at the small hole-in-the-wall diner with a minute to spare. She punched in her card on the way in and grabbed an apron from the back. She placed her purse and journal down in her locker before tying the strings around her waist. She exhaled deeply, preparing herself for the day before walking out and plastering a smile in place.

By the end of the breakfast rush, Jisoo had returned three dishes which had been “incorrect,” had five customers comment on her appearance in an unflattering way, and had someone spill hot coffee on her. Needless to say that when the diner emptied out, she was very irritable.

She walked to the back and got her journal before sitting down at the counter. She leaned over and retrieved a pen from the cup beside the register and went back to staring at the blank page. She hoped a new setting would give her inspiration but, sadly, nothing came.

She thought back to the girl and how if she hadn’t opened her mouth, Jisoo might have considered her pretty. She scoffed at that thought and tried to focus.

Her shift ended at about two hours later and, aside from the occasional customer looking for shelter from the rain, she sat the rest of it out writing down phrases and words but never stringing them together.

So that night, when she went back to the bar from the night before, she didn’t have any new material.

She stood behind the curtains but this time her only hope was that the girl had not returned. Taking in a deep breath, Jisoo stepped back on the stage with a smile.

“What’s wrong with your shoes?”

Her set had gone just about as well as she had expected. It almost didn’t surprise her that when she stepped out into the alley she was met with the girl from before leaning against the wall in the same location. Her clothes were different, but again the girl spoke around a cigarette between her lips.

Jisoo brushed off her question, “Those things will kill you.”

“So will those contraptions,” the girl replied, “Honestly, just go buy another pair at the thrift store for like five bucks. They’ll at least last longer than those,” she put out the cigarette against the brick wall beside her. “They’ll definitely look prettier.”

“What’s your problem?”

The girl shrugged. “If you want, I’ll buy you a new pair.”

Jisoo scoffed and turned away, “No thanks.”

As she started walking away, the girl caught up and grabbed her forearm.

“Then, can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

Jisoo pretended to contemplate for a moment, “Hmm, no.”

She yanked her arm out of the girl’s grasp and stormed off. The nerve of her, she thought, insult her music, then her shoes and still think she has the right to ask her to go get coffee together. What a joke.

Faltering in her steps, she realized how tired she was. At the same time, however, she knew how restless her mind was going to be. She cursed under her breath and trotted back the other way until she met up with the girl.

“Yes,” she said barely loud enough for the girl to hear.

“What?” the girl said, expression showing surprise.

“Yes, you can buy me some coffee.”

The girl’s face lit up in a smile and she stopped walking. Jisoo’s impatience took over and she grabbed the girl’s arm before pulling her into the closest coffee shop.

“What’s your name?”

Jisoo furrowed her brows in confusion. Had she just agreed to go out with someone late at night when she didn’t even know their name? “Jisoo.”

“I’m (Y/n).”

As they approached, (Y/n) asked for Jisoo’s order and then shooed her away to find a table. The black haired girl looked around at the empty building before walking toward a booth tucked into the back corner by the windows.

The lights inside the shop cast a glare on the windows, so Jisoo couldn’t see outside. It didn’t matter, though, as a mug was placed in front of her before (Y/n) took a seat across from her.

Jisoo sipped at the drink before pulling the journal out of her purse. She set it down on the table between them and looked up at (Y/n), daring her to take it. The girl did and flipped it open before scanning the lines written in front of her.

“Did you look over these?”

“Yeah, and I like how they are.”

Humming in acknowledgment, the girl took her own pocket journal out of the inner linings of her jacket.

The two books looked strange side by side. Hers was a battered black journal that looked a little more than rough around the edges while Jisoo’s was a light pink color with a “J” in the middle, and it was obviously well cared for.

“You need a new journal.”

“I’ll get a new one when you get new shoes.”

“Touche.”

Tentatively reaching forward, Jisoo slid the black notebook to her side and began to flip through it.

Black ink ran across the unlined pages in almost undecipherable writing. It was slanted, half in print, half in cursive and the pages were torn. Many of the pages had been filled and those that were had been really filled. It looked like a madman had forced his thoughts out of his head and onto one page, even if it meant writing sideways and upside down in the margins.

However, it was hard to deny the beauty of the words that flowed across the page. Jisoo immersed herself in the stories in the journal. All of them were poems from what she could tell, but the subjects were all different. From politics to feminism, there wasn’t a single love poem among the ones she had read.

“What do you think?”

Jisoo looked up, “What even is it?”

“They’re slam poems.”

From the blank stare Jisoo gave in return, (Y/n) could tell that she didn’t comprehend.

“It’s spoken word poetry. They’re more meaningful when I recite them.”

“Is this what you meant by ‘performing differently?’” Jisoo inquired.

“Yes.”

“What’s with the topics though?”

“I like to write about the real world.”

Jisoo looked incredulous at that, “They’re too over the top.”

(Y/n) shrugged, “Like I said, they’re more powerful when they’re read aloud.”

The two continued to discuss the works in front of them. Jisoo couldn’t help but noticed how animated the other girl got when she was talking about her poems. She nervously forced herself to look away.

After an hour, after their drinks faded from hot to lukewarm to cold, the two girls got up and exited the coffee shop. Excitement buzzed in Jisoo’s chest and she turned to look at (Y/n).

“Can you get home from here?” she asked Jisoo.

“Yes,” she replied.

There was a pause and the (Y/n) said, “I’ll see you around.” The girl started to walk away, pulling out a pack of cigarettes as she went.

Jisoo was slightly disappointed at the lack of climatic events but she simply sighed and began her trek home. It was weird how she had hoped for more but she didn’t dwell on it.

When she arrived home, she kicked off her shoes and after a moment, aligned them beside the door. She flicked the lights on and proceeded to her bedroom. Honestly, she didn’t even feel tired with the amount of adrenaline and coffee coursing through her veins. Since she didn’t have work in the morning, she didn’t really mind, but it was kind of inconvenient since her body was demanding sleep.

Nonetheless, she laid down on the bed stomach down and opened up her notebook.

Throughout the weeks that Jisoo was booked to sing, not once had (Y/n) not shown up. She was always waiting afterward with a cigarette and a teasing remark about something or another.

The week prior (Y/n) had asked for Jisoo’s number and from then on they never stopped texting each other.

“Can we go somewhere?”

The abrupt words almost startled Jisoo but she simply replied with an ‘of course.’

The chains of the swingset were rusted beyond repair and every time (Y/n) swung one way or another, it squeaked to all hell. Jisoo used the leverage from the chain to lean back and look at the night sky. It was late, it was after another of Jisoo’s performances, but there were few visible stars because of all the light pollution. Feet dragging along the rocks, (Y/n) forced herself to a stop when she noticed Jisoo’s silence.

“Do you want to come to one of my poetry readings?” (Y/n) asked shyly. Her gaze was on the small rocks at her feet and the bashful look on her face was not hidden in the darkness.

“Yeah,” Jisoo said, smiling broadly, “I’d really like that.”

(Y/n) released a sigh of relief and promised to send Jisoo the details when they got home. After a moment she stood and offered to walk her back to her apartment, which Jisoo accepted.

They walked along under the soft glow of street lamps. As they came to another crosswalk, (Y/n) pulled a cigarette out and removed a lighter from her pocket. Jisoo watched as she did so and decided it would be better to not say anything considering she was her own person.

A few inhales of smoke later and (Y/n) tossed the stick to the ground and stomped it out.

“Why do you smoke?”

The girl didn’t seem surprised by the question and only said, “Habits are hard to kick once you’ve had them for a couple years. Plus,” she paused, “haven’t you heard that drugs ease a troubled mind? It’s easier to write when I’m intoxicated.”

“Maybe you should let me smoke sometime then,” Jisoo joked.

(Y/n) stopped and glared at Jisoo, “Don’t even think about it. I don’t want you to joke about that. Your life will be so much better if drugs aren’t involved.”

Jisoo shrunk a little at the tone of her voice, feeling slightly like a scolded child. They resumed walking, this time in silence.

“I’m sorry,” (Y/n)’s voice was quiet, “I just know first hand what it’s like and I don’t want you getting involved.”

As they walked Jisoo felt her and (Y/n)’s fingers brushing and after a moment the girl wrapped her hand around Jisoo’s. Warmth spread throughout her body and she tried to hold in her blush so that (Y/n) couldn’t see. After an internal debate, Jisoo decided to lean into (Y/n)’s arm as they walked the rest of the way home.

They continued to meet up in random places to talk and write as weeks passed. Jisoo went to her competitions and readings, never failing to be awed by the words and rhythm of not only (Y/n)’s poems but everyone else’s as well. Snapping along at any chance she could, finding solace in bars at three am seated next to her lover as they listened to the expressions of catharsis.

During the days they hunted around the city for new places to explore: coffee shops, bookstores, hidden parks tucked away under the cover of trees. Once they’d found an abandoned overpass and just sat and looked out over the city from their vantage points.

Their journals stayed close to their persons and Jisoo loved watching as (Y/n) would flip it open to a page and just write down phrases and words until a whole poem began tumbling from her fingertips. When she was stuck, she would mumble under her breath as she twirled her pen and Jisoo couldn’t help but giggle at her intense concentration.

One day they were sitting on Jisoo’s balcony, feet dangling over the edge, when (Y/n) leaned over and planted a kiss on Jisoo’s lips. It didn’t last long since Jisoo was completely stunned and (Y/n) sat back to laugh at her expression.

Those were the days when everything felt perfect.

Affection continued over months until they were both practically living in Jisoo’s apartment. It seemed to Jisoo that every time (Y/n) came over she left more behind than what she took.

On one morning, after she ran around and slammed all the windows shut because of a thunderstorm that was raging outside, she heard a knock on her door and grumbled the whole way over. It was only seven in the morning, after all, and on her day off.

She pulled the door open only to find (Y/n) standing there soaking wet.

“What the hell! I gave you a key so you didn’t have to wake me up in the morning.” She pulled her inside, closed the door and commanded her to stay in the entrance as she went to get a towel. She grabbed a fluffy lavender one and brought it back to her. “What are you doing here anyway?”

For a moment there was no response as the girl tried to dry her hair at least a little.

“So I went to go to the convenience store and when I got back I found this.” She retrieved a crumpled up eviction notice from her pocket and Jisoo tentatively took it. “My landlord has been lying. I swear that I gave him the rent but according to the courts I haven’t paid in months. What an asshole.”

Jisoo smoothed the creases of the paper out and looked at it for a little bit as (Y/n) continued to dry herself off.

“You could always move in with me…” Jisoo said quietly. There was silence between them and for a second she thought her suggestion had been drowned out by the thunder.

She looked up to find (Y/n) smiling broadly. The girl launched herself at Jisoo, enclosing her in a hug despite the moisture that was clinging to her clothes. Jisoo squeaked and, in between her laughter, she shouted at her to stop as they spun around her living room.

(Y/n) stopped them suddenly. She places her hands on either side of Jisoo’s face and kissed her on the lips before pulling back and murmuring, “You’re so cute.”

Soon there were boxes stacked along the walls and the two were trying to fit everything it. For the moment, (Y/n) was only allowed a quarter of the closet and her books had to stay in boxes, but she didn’t mind as they shared the bed or cooked together in the kitchen.

In the mornings, when the whole city was quiet because the sun had barely begun to rise, Jisoo would join her outside on the balcony when she had the urge to smoke. They would watch the world awake as they discussed any and everything on their minds. On the mornings when Jisoo had to work they would kiss goodbye on the balcony rather than at the door.

Some days (Y/n) would just come home after her late night shifts at the bar while Jisoo was about to leave. Those days made it hard to interact, but in the evenings, if neither had performances, they would laze around in bed and tell stories to one another that they made up on the spot.

Life with (Y/n) was different. There was certainly never a dull moment as Jisoo found out about three months after she moved in. Jisoo hadn’t remembered (Y/n) mentioning going out to drink when she left for work that morning, but here she was, slightly tipsy with a beer in one hand and a sharpie in the other.

“What are you doing?” Jisoo asked as she threw her bag onto the couch (Y/n) was standing on.

“This wall is so bland,” she complained in reply, “I say we write on it.”

Jisoo narrowed her eyes in disbelief, “Or we could, I don’t know, hang photos up instead.”

The girl shook her head and flailed her arms about for a second as she almost lost her balance. She took the cap off of the marker with her teeth and leaned forward to shield Jisoo’s sight. When she pulled back Jisoo could see the “Jisoo is the prettiest girl in the world” scrawled in messy handwriting.

Jisoo could feel her heart melting a little as she read the words. In an instant, she relented and stepped up onto the couch herself. Carefully, of course, so as not to throw off (Y/n)’s already fragile balance. She watched as (Y/n) extended her arm and wrote up closer to the ceiling “fuq da police.”

“Really?” Jisoo asked incredulously.

(Y/n) started laughing and when she calmed down a little, she took a swig from the bottle in her hand. She offered the marker over to Jisoo, who took it with a little hesitance.

“Just write something,” (Y/n) urged.

When Jisoo still stood with a contemplative look on her face after a minute, the girl clambered down to sit on the cushions; Jisoo followed suit.

“What is your favorite thing someone has said to you?”

Jisoo pondered it a moment before saying, “Your food will be right out.”

(Y/n) began laughing hysterically at that. In her fit, she tried to get Jisoo to write the sentence on the wall but she refused with a smile, claiming she was only joking. After a few minutes, the room became quiet and Jisoo looked over to find (Y/n) asleep against the opposite armrest, with the beer bottle still clutched in her hand.

Jisoo put the sharpie on the coffee table, got up and gently pried the glass from her grip and taking it to the kitchen. She returned to the living room and tugged a blanket off the armchair on her right to cover (Y/n) in.

She began to leave the room but after a moment’s thought she turned back and grabbed the marker. She made sure to be careful to not disturb the sleeping girl as she stood on the furniture. Jisoo lifted her arm up to eye level and wrote out “Performing live is the greatest high in the world. That’s why I do what I do -Toni Braxton.”

Satisfied, she stepped back down and turned the lights off before heading to bed.

As the days went on, they gradually added to the wall until it looked like one of the pages in (Y/n)’s journal. There was an assortment of quotes, lyrics, and random phrases spanning the entire length. By the time a couple months had rolled around, the girls had to rearrange their living room so that the couch was pushed up against another wall. With the bottom space open, the two wasted no time in filling it to the brim with whatever their minds came up with. Jisoo was sure there was even a grocery list written in the corner.

However, throughout those months, everything began falling apart.

Jisoo had known that (Y/n) was addicted to many things. She had learned that as they sat in coffee shops on rainy days, trying to warm their freezing fingers. She had suspected that the trembling of (Y/n)’s hands was from more than just the cold air that had surrounded them.

Admittedly, Jisoo also knew that she had been trying to give up more of the “hardcore stuff,” as (Y/n) referred to it as. This led to a lot of nights spent rubbing soothing circles on her back as (Y/n) sat clutching the rim of the toilet bowl as she tried to not heave all her insides out. And there were nights where Jisoo wrapped her up in as many blankets as she could find and found herself hopelessly lost on how to stop her shivering.

But the worst part was when it all stopped.

It seemed to Jisoo that no matter how many times they sat together and (Y/n) promised to get clean, she would always find herself relapsing back into the clutches of whatever drugs she could afford.

She tried to keep Jisoo out of that part of her life as much as possible, but Jisoo wasn’t blind. She appreciated the days when she would leave enough money for all the rent instead of just half and when instead of spending her last few dollars on another hit, she would bring home takeout and a bouquet of flowers, even if she was fairly irritable for the next couple of days.

Nothing could replace her though, and every time (Y/n) left, Jisoo felt anxiety begin to take over every inch of her body. Weeks kept crawling by and every day was getting worse until Jisoo felt as if she was in this constant state of nausea.

(Y/n) had stopped going to her regular bars to perform, but not once did she miss one of Jisoo’s sets. She would either be right up front or right backstage depending on her sobriety level. Some days they would walk home in silence and other times they would walk to a late night coffee shop or a playground to talk and write.

Jisoo couldn’t help but feel that every night was their last together.

And eventually, Jisoo snapped.

“Please, let’s just go. We’ll find a good rehabilitation center, you’ll get help. I’ll come to visit you every day if that’s what you’re worried about.”

(Y/n) smiled weakly and shook her head.

“It’s too late for me.” She bit her lip and then, “Maybe you should just leave me behind.”

Jisoo felt tears prick her eyes and she had to bit her tongue to ensure she didn’t say anything brash.

“I told you your life would be better if drugs weren’t involved.”

Despite her words, (Y/n) was visibly trying again to stay clean. She went through every symptom on the Wikipedia page Jisoo looked at and she started to have her symptoms lessen with the passing days.

It was easier to be together on some days and others they kept their distance, but Jisoo never gave up on (Y/n).

On a Friday night, after one of Jisoo’s performances, the two girls walked to the coffee shop they first went to. It was as if nothing had changed aside from their more obvious feelings.

(Y/n) paid. Jisoo teased (Y/n) on her journal and (Y/n) teased Jisoo on her shoes. They sipped at coffee and talked until Jisoo noticed the time. They would have stayed longer if not for Jisoo’s double shift she had in the next couple of hours.

“I’m not a vampire,” she joked, “I do have to do things during the day, so I need sleep.”

The two got up from their booth in the back and walked out hand in hand.

(Y/n) looked around at the night sky in search of stars and Jisoo noted how clear her eyes were. It made her feel fuzzy inside and she leaned into (Y/n) as they walked home together.

But when Jisoo returned home the next day, she knew immediately that something was wrong. She was unsettled by the atmosphere and she moved quietly throughout the apartment. She looked in each room and, finding no intruders, she relaxed her shoulders a little.

Jisoo reentered the living room and slumped down onto the couch. From her position, she was able to gaze at the wall of words, the television and the place where (Y/n)’s journal sat neatly on the glass of the coffee table.

She did a double take and stood straight up. (Y/n) never left her journal behind.

Jisoo immediately pulled out her phone and called her but after irritating ringing and the unnerving, “I’m not available at the moment. Please leave a message after the beep,” Jisoo found herself trying again and again to contact (Y/n).

Walking to the bedroom to grab her charger, Jisoo noticed a present sitting on the comforter of the bed. She felt herself choking up and backed slowly out of the room, never taking her eyes off of the box. She closed her door as if it would keep reality at bay.

She waited and waited and waited. She paced around the apartment and traced words on the wall to try to calm her nerves, but nothing worked.

At some point early into the morning of the next day, Jisoo found herself awoken by the sound of her phone ringing. She lifted her head off of her arms and stretched to ease the tension in her back. She had fallen asleep hunched over the counter that her phone was buzzing violently on.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Yeonha from…” Everything the woman said after that became jumbled. Jisoo had managed to make out “hospital,” “contact” and “overdose,” though.

She promised the woman that she would come and then hung up, not bothering to stop the flow of tears as she slid off the chair she was sitting on in favor of curling up on the floor.

Jisoo pulled her knees to her chest and stayed there for what felt like hours before she finally calmed her sobs to sniffles. She sat up and dragged herself out the door, feeling her steps slow the closer she got to the hospital.

She felt numb the entire time as if her soul had left her body, and as she returned home she couldn’t help but just lay on the couch with her eyes closed. Everywhere she looked she was reminded of (Y/n) and Jisoo felt empty.

For the next few days, Jisoo couldn’t eat or sleep and she felt weak as she thought of the upcoming funeral. She gazed at the wall of quotes and her eyes fell upon a new sentence she hadn’t noticed.

“‘Y’all smoke to enjoy it. I smoke to die.’ -Looking for Alaska.”

And in another moment Jisoo was racked with an uncontrollable wave of emotion.

When Monday morning rolled around and she had to sit through the burial, Jisoo wasn’t even sure if she had the willpower to move away from the tombstone. She sat there for hours and simply traced the lettering on the grave. The dirt beside her dress shifted so easily and she couldn’t help but think that maybe this was all a dream.

It took days for her to open the box. Sixteen, to be exact.

Jisoo sat down on the left side, her side, of the bed and placed the present in her lap. Her teeth scraped her bottom lip as she tried to not start balling. With careful movements she tore the wrapping paper, not bothering to pull the box out. She ran her fingers over the top and released a deep breath.

With a hand on either side, she popped the top off. Nestled in between sheets of tissue paper sat a pair of black suede pumps. They were brand new and expensive from the look of it. It took a lot of self-control for her to not simply chuck the whole thing at the wall and curl up as tight as possible as she sobbed.

But she took the shoes out instead. There was nothing else in the box.

In a surge of rage, she hit the lid of the box onto the floor and, as it fell with the inside up, she could see the note attached inside.  
...

“Jisoo,

I’m sorry I didn’t get to give these to you in person. I was saving them for a special occasion but I didn’t want to take this secret to the grave.

On my phone, in the voice memos app, there’s a poem for you that I wrote a while ago but never had the guts to share. I think it’s my favorite.

I love you so much. Don’t forget that, okay?

I’ll see you later,

(Y/n)”  
...

She looked over at the dresser where she had placed (Y/n)’s stuff. Her personal items had been given back by the hospital but Jisoo hadn’t bothered to go through it before.

She stood on wobbly legs and walked unsteadily over to the desk and rummaged through her jeans before pulling out her phone. She began to walk back but after a moment she turned back and took (Y/n)’s jacket as well.

Jisoo unlocked the phone, pulled the poem titled “For Jisoo” up, set it on the nightstand and wrapped herself up in the jacket, letting her smell overcome her. She hit play.

...

She tells me ‘yes’ after denying me. Pulls on my arm with this frustrated look on her face that I will only ever describe as cute.

I let myself be dragged to the nearest coffee shop where I pay. Not because she’s making me but because I want to make a good impression since I already know what she thinks of me.

We sip coffee, conversation flows between us like liquid, lingering glances. I can’t tell if she still hates me.

Her dark hair is richer than the aroma around us and all I want to do is reach out and push strands back behind her ear. Let her listen to my apologies. Try to hide my biting words from before.

Back when she was just some girl in a pale blue dress looking just like Cinderella. Her feet clad in these worn down heels that were the only indication of an evil stepmother.

Back when I was just some girl with a watchful eye but not enough taste to see the beauty in front of me as I huffed and puffed like some big, bad wolf.

I was too scared to ask for her number so I said, “I’ll see you around” like a moron. But we continued to meet up until my heart was beating with so much affection I was sure it was going to burst. I’m still sure it will.

I make fun of her words and she makes fun of mine because her sad songs of heartbreak are humorous while she claims my poems about “real life” are too over the top.

We sit together in cafes all over town and write about each other until we forget the other is even there. Too shy to share our stories, but the blushes and small smiles give everything away.

Our home is a mess of her stuff and my stuff and our stuff that blends and separates like a lava lamp. But our shoes sit neatly together by the door. Scuffed up combat boots and damaged heels side by side awaiting adventures. Only one pair is truly broken.

If she hadn’t acted against her thoughts, I never would have been able to wrap my arms around her waist, proudly show her off. I would have been just another asshole nobody who attended all her shows because they give me a rush, unlike any drug I’ve ever injected into my bloodstream.

If she hadn’t turned back I wouldn’t even be here. Her presence has calmed too many storms for her to even comprehend.

So to my azure princess, to my starving artist singer/songwriter. To my stubborn girl with a strong heart. To my hope, the light that still shines despite how my own is fading with each needle and pill that I tell myself to not take but do anyway.

To my girlfriend: I love you.

And I’m sorry.

...

Three months later:

Jisoo sat at the bar waiting for an opening. She sipped at the drink in front of her, not bothering to remember the name.

Tonight was an open mic and for the first time in a long time, she felt ready to speak. It had been a while since she had walked onto a stage but she knew that if she wanted to continue on with her life, she had to do this one thing first.

When she had walked in that night, she had signed her name on the list without much thought, and even now she felt no sort of regret.

A man walked onto the platform that was set up and he introduced her. This time her face was grim and she had no intention of smiling to please anyone. Her black heels clicked as she walked.

She gripped the stand with her left hand and adjusted the microphone with her right.

Jisoo looked out into the crowd which had quieted and then began.

...

I wish I could have written this sooner, however, sometimes things are better after time has slipped through your fingers.

Like the stars. We see their light years after they shined toward us.

You were like a star whose light was fading with each passing day. But it took so long for me to finally see it.

Of all the stars in the sky, you looked just like everyone else. And that will never be something you’d want to hear because you tried so hard to be unique.

But I want you to understand that uniqueness doesn’t come from the clothing you wear or the dark eye shadows. It comes from expression of the soul.

I’d seen you in crowds passing by before and you were always just another somebody I’d never speak to, somebody I would brush shoulders with but never exchange thoughts with over a cup of coffee.

And your uniqueness came from your actions, stepping forth to pull me aside as I walked home. To ask if I’d go somewhere with you so we could discuss cliches and poetry like they were the most normal topics in the world.

And at the time I hadn’t realized you were a supernova. You’d already hit your pinnacle and now you were just expelling your problems from your life as you waited for your star cycle to end.

I tried and tried to help pull you back together but the damage was done long before I’d ever gotten the chance to say “hello.”

But unlike others I don’t see black holes as wastelands, as something to give up on.

So when people tried to fill your absence with grief and sorrow, I folded star after star and put them in this small glass jar I keep next to our journals.

They say if you fold one thousand paper cranes your wish will come true. But I’m not wishing for longevity or peace or even happiness.

Instead, before I fold each one up, I write “I want her back” on each little star. Over and over and over again.

...


End file.
